


Blind Man's Bluff

by whitchry9



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blind Character, Case Fic, Crossover, Deductions, Friendship, Gen, John wants to see superheroes, Jumping to Conclusions, Matt wants everyone to go away, Misunderstandings, POV Alternating, Sherlock is suspicious, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 20:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11744391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: When John and Sherlock receive an email that propels them across the ocean to New York City for a case, John hopes he can at least see one superhero while he's there. But instead the case gets them involved with a little law firm with a lot to hide.Matt and Foggy are thankful for the help, really, but would like to get back to not having to hide secrets from the world's most observant man.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Shuufleur for the lovely art which you should check out immediately (or after you read it I guess? whichever) and to the WIP bang for getting my butt into gear and making me finish the story I've had sitting in my drafts for years.
> 
> Chapters will be posted throughout the day.
> 
> Also a fill for this prompt: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/6237.html?thread=10860637#cmt10860637

 

“We're going to New York,” Sherlock announced.

John looked up from the book he was reading to find Sherlock already packed and holding his suitcase. “Okay. Why?”

“A case, of course.”

“Obviously,” John rolled his eyes. “When?”

“Now. Why aren't you packed yet?”

“Probably because you told me five seconds ago.”

Sherlock frowned, looking puzzled. “I thought I told you.”

“Nope.”

Sherlock hummed. “Well, better go get packed if we want to make it to the airport on time.”

 

John sighed, but hurried up to his room and managed to throw some essentials into a bag before Sherlock's pacing wore a hole through the rug. Mrs Hudson had enough to worry about already.

 

He was a bit excited to go to New York though. That was where all the superheroes seemed to be located. He wasn't sure if it was because that's where an abundance of crime was, or if they all seemed to gravitate to the city for some other reason.

He was hoping to meet a superhero to ask them, although he knew that was a bit of a dream.

 

They made it onto the plane with hardly a moment to spare, which John still maintained was not his fault, since Sherlock was the one planning the entire thing.

It was a while before he got settled enough to ask Sherlock about the case.

 

“So, what is the case?” John asked. Sherlock was sitting next to him with his eyes closed and hands beneath his chin.

“Mm?” Sherlock hummed.

“The case. Why we're going to New York. What is it? Must be good if we're travelling across the Atlantic.”

“Oh, the case.” Sherlock opened his eyes. “Yes, it does promise to be interesting. The client contacted me through email. He wanted to come, but he was a little busy being arrested and extradited to America. He's been accused of a double murder, but couldn't tell me more than that in the email. I contacted the prison to speak with him, but they claimed only his lawyers were allowed to communicate with him.”

“Who are the lawyers? Some hotshot firm?”

Sherlock scoffed. “Hardly. The lawyers are a small firm called Nelson and Murdock, based in Hell's Kitchen. Relatively new, not many previous clients, but they were recently involved in a rather large case that involved Wilson Fisk, a number of police officers, and members of congress. I assume that's why our client chose to be involved with them. They have a reputation for defending the innocent, or at least that is what their website claimed. Considering they have defended at least two people who were clearly guilty, I'm not sure how trustworthy they can be, but they are lawyers, so that is to be expected.”

John sighed. “Will we be meeting with them?”

“That is why we're going,” Sherlock replied, sounding irritated. “Their secretary refused to give me any information on the phone. I even tried using Lestrade's badge, but nothing.”

“Oh, well why stop there. Why not use Mycroft's security clearance as well?”

John was being sarcastic, but the expression on Sherlock's face said that he clearly wasn't.

“Ah. Didn't work either then?”

“No,” Sherlock snapped. “This is why cases involving other countries, namely America, are annoying. The people refuse to bend to my will.”

“Must be terribly frustrating,” John remarked.

Sherlock only scowled and slouched further in his seat.

“What exactly did he hire you for anyway?”

“Our client is of the belief that he cannot possibly be guilty of the crime he was accused of, because he was in a different part of the city committing a different crime.”

“Not the best alibi?”

“As they go, no.”

“Which makes it strange he chose it for his alibi when it is so difficult to prove. If he was going to make up something, why not choose something that he could at least get someone to lie about in order to vouch for him.”

“He claims that there was a witness. Instead of being involved in a double homicide, our client claimed he was attempting to rob a store, but was stopped by a local vigilante. Because vigilantes make excellent alibis,” he scoffed.

“Are you talking about Daredevil?”

Sherlock eyed him with exasperation. “Why do you know so much about superheroes? What is it about them that interests you?”

“Some of us are interested in people with superhuman abilities. Just because you're not doesn't mean-”

Sherlock waved a hand. “Never mind, I don't actually care about the answer. Yes, that is who he's claiming is his alibi. Of course, since Daredevil is a vigilante and not associated with a group, he's been impossible to track down.”

“And I imagine even if he was tracked down, he wouldn't testify. Vigilantism isn't exactly legal.”

John frowned, mulling over the information Sherlock had shared with him so far. “Why are we taking this case? He seems to have an alibi, or at least claims to have one? What's the mystery? Why are you so interested that we're flying across an ocean to solve it?”

Sherlock didn't respond, just pressed his hands together and closed his eyes.

“That is the same as turning your coat collar up,” John huffed, but he let it go and tried to focus on the in flight movie.

For what it was worth, James Bond seemed to have it easier than him some days.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Finally, a case that doesn't come from you bribing Bess,” Matt muttered as he and Foggy made their way to the police station. A man who had just been extradited from the UK on charges of first degree murder had specifically requested them for his legal counsel. They didn't have many details yet, but Matt suspected this was the double homicide a month or so back that had happened in Hell's Kitchen. He pushed down the wave of guilt that threatened to overwhelm him and focused on what they did know.

 

The man turned out to be Ian Oliver, charged with the first degree murders of Sofia Marquis and Benjamin Orwitz.

It also turned out that Matt knew him, having stopped him from robbing a convenience store on the night in question.

He had a feeling the case was going to be more complicated than it was worth.

 

“Mr Oliver, you are going to be charged with two cases of intentional homicide. Your arraignment is this afternoon. Because your crime is a felony, this will go before a jury. You will not be asked to enter a plea at your arraignment. You likely won't be released on bail due to the violent nature of these crimes. There are a couple of ways this could go, depending on the evidence, how you plea, and the proceedings.”

Foggy pulled out the flowchart he pulled from the DA's website for this purpose. “See that as you file not guilty pleas, the process gets drawn out. This is the path you can expect to go down in your future. Do you have any questions?”

“I didn't do it,” he said immediately.

“Mr Oliver, we're not here to ask if you did it, or if you didn't. That doesn't matter. We're going to defend you either way.”

The man shook his head. “I would never kill anyone. And I've got an alibi and everything.”

“Which is?” Foggy prompted. Matt already knew, and was kind of interested to see how this would play out.

Oliver sighed. “I was trying to rob a convenience store. I was drunk and stupid and looking for money.”

Foggy raised his eyebrows. “Your alibi is that you were committing a completely different crime at the time? As far as alibis go, it's so awful that no one would ever make it up.”

Oliver sighed. Matt bet he looked ashamed. He'd have to ask Foggy later if he did.

“I know I'm an idiot. I know that. An armed robbery? My worst moment. But like I said, I was stupid and drunk and looking for a quick buck. I've got a son. He is the only good thing I've ever done in my life. And I have to pay child support. His mother is trying to get him into a private high school, once that can help him get into a good college and give him a good life. My dad was shit, you know, and I'm not blaming him for the way I turned out, but maybe if he'd been there more for me, I'd have been better. And I'm not taking that risk on my own kid. So yeah. I was stupid and drunk and I made the worst choice of my life, but I did not hurt anyone. I can't even... I could never do that.”

No change in heart rate. Salt on his cheeks. Genuine remorse and grief.

Innocent. At least of the double homicide.

Of course, it helped that Matt knew his alibi checked out. Proving it would be a bit more difficult.

_Oh, yes your honour, I can vouch for the defendant, because I'm the vigilante Daredevil and was with him at the time of the murders, stopping him from robbing a store._

He'd have to come up with some other way to prove it. “We'll take your case,” Matt assured him, a subtle tap against Foggy's leg to let him know there was more than he was letting on.

“Oh thank you,” he said with relief. “I knew that your firm had a reputation for taking on the hard cases, but I wasn't sure if you would believe me.”

“If there's anything you want to tell us, anything to say in your defense, you should tell us now. Can the store owner back up your alibi?”

The man licked his lips. “Um, I don't think she can. I... I wore a mask. But...”

“You need to tell us Mr Oliver,” Foggy insisted.

“Well, the reason I stopped... I didn't really...” he sighed. “Daredevil stopped me. He grabbed me out of the store before I even know what was happening, took my gun, dragged me into the alley, yanked my mask off. He saw my face.”

Matt could hear Foggy trying not to smile.

“And why did he let you go?”

“Uh... he didn't really. I headbutted him. He must not have been expecting it, because it actually worked. I stunned him I guess, and his nose started bleeding, and I booked it out of there afterwards. I thought he was going to chase me, but he didn't.”

Foggy glanced sideways at Matt, but didn't say anything.

“After that, I headed to London. I thought that getting out of the country might help, but it didn't. By the time I found out there was a warrant out for my arrest, I only had time to email Mr Holmes. They extradited me back here, where I called you.”

“What do you think Sherlock Holmes can do that we can't?” Matt asked.

He shrugged. “I dunno. But I was in London for just over a month, and everywhere I turned, it seemed he was being mentioned in the papers, solving one crime or another.”

Foggy rolled his eyes. At least Matt assumed he did. It was impossible to really tell.

 

“We'll be back this afternoon for the arraignment, and we'll be in touch,” Foggy told him, standing up from the table.

Mr Oliver nodded. “Thank you. Really. You're the first people who've actually listened to me.”

 

Foggy waited until they were a good distance from the jail before he started questioning Matt.

“Okay, why didn't you tell me about this?”

“I don't tell you about every person I meet at night. You have to know that.”

“And I suppose you really wouldn't tell me about one you let get away.”

Matt stopped walking. “I did not let him get away.”

“Then how did he get away?”

“You heard him. He headbutted me.”

“That usually doesn't stop you though. Or at least I don't think it would.”

Matt sighed. “It was an off night, he gave me a bloody nose, which made it hard for me to track him, and it stunned me for a minute. By the time I got the bleeding stopped, it seemed pointless to try and catch up with him. And sure, I could have run after him still bleeding, but I figure it's not the best idea to leave a trail of my DNA everywhere I go.”

“Ah. You should have led with that one.” Foggy nodded. “Good excuse.”

“Thought so. Shall we go back to the office, maybe give Brett a call, see how things for this guy are playing out on the prosecuting side of things?”

Foggy nodded, offering his elbow like the darling Victorian man Matt knew he was. He half expected him to say 'm'lady', but maybe their relationship wasn't quite back to that point yet.

 

It was okay. At least they still had a relationship, which was more than Matt expected when he woke up on his couch, multiple wounds sutured with no memory how they got that way, his costume in tatters on the floor, and Foggy in his kitchen.

And like they'd said, maybe there was no way to get back to where they were before, but at least they could find a way to move forward.

 

As expected, Ian Oliver was charged with two counts of intentional homicide, told that he was not eligible for bail, and would be held until a grand jury could review the evidence against him.

 

 

 

 

 

A week and a half on, and they hadn't made much progress on the case, despite devoting their total, albeit limited resources to it.

Foggy buttered up Brett and his mother as much as he could, but the police weren't very helpful, or perhaps just didn't have much. Which made Matt question what was so compelling that they extradited the man across an ocean.

Or maybe NYC was just getting really desperate for cases given all the superheroes and vigilantes stopping criminals across the city, so who knew.

So they weren't making that much progress, but at least they were doing something. After the Fisk case, things hadn't been very busy for a while, and while Matt was questioning the circumstances surrounding the case, he was happy to have it. Because while it may have been a bit complicated, at least it was something he and Foggy could handle.

 

It was then that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson did first darken the doorway of Nelson and Murdock.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The secretary was pretty, with blonde hair and a pleasant smile that she was currently aiming towards either Nelson or Murdock, John couldn't be sure which.

The smile faded as Sherlock approached her desk.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Yes, I believe we've spoken on the phone-”

Anything further he was going to say was cut off by the secretary, Karen Page by the placard on her desk, as she yelled for her associates.

“Matt! Get out here, this is the dick I was telling you about.”

John managed to hold back his chuckle as Sherlock's face fell from a fake smile into his normal expression, which was a combination of disinterest and boredom.

A man with dark hair and dark red glasses stepped out of his office.

“He showed up?” he asked. John noted a healing cut along his jawline.

“He really did,” Page replied, glaring at Sherlock.

Matt, and John still wasn't sure if he was Nelson or Murdock, stepped towards them and stopped with his hand resting on the edge of the secretary's desk.

“Oh boy,” the other man said. His hair was longer than his partner's, and blond. “You certainly got her worked up. I'm surprised you had the guts to show your face here after some of the things you said.”

John sighed, eyeing Sherlock who at least had the decency to look slightly ashamed.

“I'm sorry for whatever things he may have said. I'm John Watson, and the dick you're referring to is Sherlock Holmes. I can vouch for both the fact that he is a dick, as well as the fact he is incredibly good at what he does, which almost makes up for the former.”

“Franklin Nelson,” the blond one said, holding his hand out for John to shake. “You can call me Foggy.”

Matt, who must have been the Murdock half of Nelson and Murdock held his hand out as well.

John shook it, noting bruised knuckles.

“Karen Page,” she said, not offering her hand and still eyeing Sherlock suspiciously. “You really came all this way?”

“Since you were less than informative on the phone, yes we did,” Sherlock replied. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“A fact which we cannot fault you for,” John added, attempting to smooth over any more touched nerves before they could become too aggravated.

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed, adding another fake smile.

Murdock tilted his head like he was considering them, but didn't say anything.

Nelson clasped his hands together. “Well, now that you're here, we can get to work I suppose. Conference room in ten?”

Murdock nodded.

“Great. Give us a few minutes to get our things together, and we'll be right with you. Karen, will you show them to our conference room?”

Karen pointed at the room behind them to the right.

John bit back his grin. “Thank you,” he told her instead, giving Sherlock a small shove towards it.

Once inside the conference room, Sherlock didn't sit down, but paced restlessly.

Both Nelson and Murdock went back into their respective offices, and Page was still glaring at Sherlock from her desk.

John closed the door before speaking to Sherlock. “Well, that's a great welcome. It's not every day that a woman calls you a dick. Oh wait. It nearly is.”

Sherlock scowled at John. “Your commentary is hardly helpful at this juncture. What do you think of them?”

“Well, this office is certainly low budget. Most of the furniture seems secondhand, and I think I saw a printer from the nineties. Secretary seems nice, and certainly capable of handling herself, if the way she spoke with you was any indication. They both seem capable, although until we really get down to it, I couldn't say for sure. Probably known each other for a while, if they were willing to start this firm together. I'm guessing they went to law school together, maybe uni as well?”

He looked at Sherlock expectantly. “Are you going to tell me how wrong I am?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Dunno. Didn't do much research.”

John rolled his eyes and sat down in a chair on one side of the table. Sherlock continued to pace until the lawyers entered, Nelson from the adjoining office, Murdock from the office across the waiting room/reception area. He seemed unsure about where to sit until Nelson kicked a chair out beside him. Murdock felt the back of the chair before sitting down. It made something in the back of John's mind tickle, like there was something he was missing, but Nelson started the meeting before he could think much about it.

He had some printed notes and a notepad in front of him, but Murdock didn't have anything, just sat there with his hands clasped in front of him.

Sherlock finally sat down after Murdock did, next to John.

He eyed them suspiciously.

 

“So,” Nelson began. “Our client contacted you before he was extradited?”

“He emailed us, yes. We didn't know about it until after he'd been removed from the country.”

Mostly because Sherlock didn't check his email.

“We brought a copy of the email,” Sherlock continued, nudging John. John retrieved the sheet of paper from the bag Sherlock made him carry, since his royal highness was above things like that, and slid the paper across the table to Murdock.

“Foggy?” he asked, tilting his head towards his partner, who read the text aloud to him.

It was then that it clicked, the dark glasses and the way he seemed to feel his way around the room. With it being a place he frequented, he wouldn't need to use a cane in the office, but Matthew Murdock was blind. John felt like an idiot. He wondered if Sherlock had already figured it out.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize.”

“It's fine,” Murdock replied. “So it seems our client knew he was going to be arrested, and as a last ditch effort, emailed you. Do you know why he'd choose you?”

Sherlock glared at him. Murdock, of course, didn't seem fazed.

“I assume it's because we are rather well known in London and the UK. Sherlock has had cases from other countries as well,” John said before Sherlock could say something rude.

“When we spoke to him for the first time, he said that during the month he spent in London, he heard about a bunch of crimes you solved.”

“Why did you ask if you already knew?” John asked.

“They wanted to hear what we thought,” Sherlock told him, staring the two lawyers down. Nelson only smiled warmly at him. John got the feeling he was very good at his job.

“Just wanted to see if you were as capable as your website claimed,” Nelson added. “The Science of Deduction.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, apparently waiting for some sort of statement or judgment.

“Really cool, if it's true,” he continued.

John was shocked. Sherlock hid it better, but he was too.

“Not the usual reaction.”

“Foggy has some... let's call it hero worship, for people with... abilities.”

“Everyone loves Captain America, Matt. It's not weird,” Nelson muttered as an aside to his partner.

Sherlock snorted. “It seems like you have some like-minded people here, John.”

John didn't explain what that meant, even though it seemed like they wanted him to.

“So, you've seen the client then? In jail? How did that go?” he asked instead.

Nelson looked a bit confused, but shuffled through his papers and notebook before giving them a relatively detailed summary of Mr Oliver's statement to both them and the police, and the additional information he tacked on as well. They set up a meeting for the next day, with the hopes that they could get some more information from the police and prosecution that would help.

They then bid the lawyers, and Miss Page, who still glared at Sherlock, goodbye for the day, and headed to their hotel.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

In the cab, Sherlock threw down a bombshell.

 

“He's not blind.”

“Because I clearly missed when you got a degree in ophthalmology, why don't you explain that to me?”

“It's fake. I don't know why he's faking it, but he is.”

John rolled his eyes. “That wasn't an explanation.”

“He fakes it well, but he's not blind. He can always tell where his partner is, whether in that room or the next.”

“Blind people often utilize their other senses. It's a myth that they become heightened, but because they focus more on their other senses, it can give the illusion they're heightened.”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, it's more than that.” He ticked off his observations on his fingers as he went. “For all that he fumbled for objects, he seemed to know where they were. The fumbling was just an act. And the way it seemed like he could be knocked over by a stiff gust of wind was just him pretending. That man's centre of gravity is solid, almost like a fighter. The way he tilted his head, like he was listening to something that we couldn't hear.”

John sighed. “I'm guessing one thing you don't have stored up in your brilliant brain of yours is that less than 10% of all people classified as legally blind have no sight at all. He could have very poor vision, or a very narrow visual range. It doesn't mean he's faking.”

Sherlock held up his phone. “Matthew Murdock, blinded at the age of nine in an auto accident. No light perception.”

John squinted at the newspaper article. “This is from the week after the accident. There's no guarantee he didn't gain at least some vision back after then.”

Sherlock shook his head again. “Clearly I can't explain this to you. I'll prove it.”

John didn't want to know what that meant. He also hoped Sherlock would just forget about it.

“Great, you've got an obsession with a lawyer now. And you say my fascination with superheroes is unusual.”

“I'll prove it,” Sherlock repeated, as stubborn as ever.

 

John sighed again, and turned to look out the window of the cab. He hoped the hotel wasn't awful.

 

 

 

 

“Well, you only got one room, but at least there are two beds,” John sighed, tossing his bag on the nearest bed.

“That one's mine,” Sherlock told him, passing him to enter the washroom, the door slamming behind him.

John wanted to sigh again, but felt like he'd been doing that a lot lately, and wanted to give this trip at least a chance, so he bit back his sigh and dragged his bag to the other bed.

 

He wondered if Sherlock would even notice if he left to go superhero hunting. Maybe he'd wait a few days.

 

 

 

 

“Well, this case just got a lot more complicated,” Foggy said, as soon as Matt let him know Holmes and Watson were out of earshot.

Matt groaned. “You're telling me. The most observant man on the planet in our office, and you really think he's not going to notice something about this whole situation?” He gestured to himself and their office, not even sure what he meant by that. There was the Daredevil thing, of course, but probably at least seven other secrets that Holmes could unearth.

“Maybe he'll be really focused on the case and not concern himself with you?” Foggy said hopefully.

“Foggy, I am the case. I'm involved. You really think he's not going to try and find Daredevil?”

“That doesn't mean you have to let him.”

“I have a feeling he never lets anything go very easily,” Matt sighed.

“And there's no way we could just completely block him out of the investigation?”

“I think because Mr Oliver requested him, he's not going to take kindly to us blocking him. And if we dropped the case, we wouldn't have any way of monitoring what Holmes knows. Plus, this is an important case Foggy. You know as well as I do that no one else would take this. Besides,” he added, setting his jaw, “If there's anyone who can get to the bottom of who actually committed this crime, it would be him.”

“Yeah. But there's no telling what he might find out while he is,” Foggy said unhappily.

“We'll just have to make sure he doesn't.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

John didn't know what time Sherlock went to sleep that night, but when he went to bed at 10pm, which was 3am back home, Sherlock was still awake, doing something on his laptop. When he woke up around 5am, which was 10am back home, Sherlock was sprawled across his bed, the laptop still open in front of him, the screen gone dark.

John knew there was no getting back to sleep, and there was also no point in browsing the internet, not when he was currently in the superhero capital of the world. He got dressed as quietly as he could, then went downstairs for the complimentary breakfast the hotel offered. It was there he planned where he'd go. The hotel wasn't far from Grand Central Station, which was next to the Avengers tower. It shouldn't be hard for him to get there, and hopefully even back, before Sherlock awoke.

The sun was just rising as he emerged from the tube. It back lit the Avengers tower and looked glorious.

He located a nearby cafe and sat himself down with a cup of coffee. Maybe if he was lucky, Iron Man would fly by.

 

Three coffees later, and there was still no sign of Iron Man. John supposed the man probably was still sleeping. It was time for him to be getting back though, because Sherlock would text him with no regard for roaming fees. Maybe he'd have better luck with another hero, on another day. Their hotel was in Hell's Kitchen after all, the area that Daredevil seemed to call home, and maybe John would have better luck with him.

 

Sherlock was still sprawled across the bed when John got back, near 11am.

“Okay, time to rise and shine,” John told him, yanking open the curtain to let the light in.

Sherlock hissed and curled inward to protect himself from the sunshine.

“Oh, no. You do not make me fly across an ocean just to laze about in bed all day. What did you find out last night?”

Sherlock groaned, but rolled back over and squinted at John. He rubbed at one eye.

“Daredevil hasn't been associated with any superhero organization like the Avengers or SHIELD.”

“SHIELD is over,” John told him.

“I don't want to know why you know that,” Sherlock muttered.

“It's a thing, it's a big thing. Some of us keep up on current events you know.”

Sherlock waved a hand. “Attitudes towards him have improved since he was cleared of a number of charges that turned out to be linked to Wilson Fisk. He was framed for those. However he still is a vigilante, and a large number of law professionals aren't fond of him. Nelson and Murdock seem to have some sort of in with him, since he assisted with clearing his name, which could have just been self serving, but it appears to have continued since the Fisk case. The lawyers themselves are both small time, born and raised in this neighbourhood, and attended law school nearby. Murdock was blinded at nine saving an old man, and his father died about a year later. No mother, so he was raised in an orphanage by nuns.” Sherlock scoffed. “God help him.”

“I assume that is what happened,” John replied.

Sherlock only glared. “Ian Oliver doesn't have much information out there. A Facebook account, but he hardly advertised his crimes there. Typical, low brow things, anger about elections, immigrants, etc. Not a particularly good person, but hardly the kind to commit murder. Does seem to care about his son. That part of the statement wasn't a lie.”

He sat up and turned his computer back on, pecked at the keyboard and spinning the screen to face John. “Article about the double homicide. Police had no suspects, no evidence at first. Then all of a sudden they put out an extradition order for him? Not likely. There's something missing. Or maybe something that was added. Either way, we're going to find out.” He scanned John. “What did you do this morning? Superhero I spy?”

“No,” John said defensively. “Went to a cafe.”

“Uh huh.”

“Near Avengers Tower. Because it's near here.”

“Any alien invasions?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow, typing rapidly. John wondered what he was doing.

“You would have heard, believe me,” John told him.

Sherlock snorted. “I'll take that as a no. It's nice being in a city where we're so _safe,_ ” he drawled, sarcasm dripping off his words.

John rolled his eyes. “Maybe you should roll out of bed, seeing as how it's nearly the crack of noon, and we can get to work on this case,” he suggested, tossing Sherlock's bag onto his legs.

Sherlock looked miffed, but took his suggestion after a few minutes.

While he was getting dressed, John took a peek at his computer.

Sherlock was researching blindness, and apparently had been for a while.

Jesus. John was really going to have to watch him around the lawyer, wasn't he.

 

 

 

They spent the rest of that day doing research. John found the firm's email address on one of the files they'd been given and spent a portion of the afternoon emailing back and forth with Nelson about the evidence that had been found that warranted an extradition order. Nelson was hesitant to answer over email, but they set up an appointment for the following Monday, since the next days were the weekend.

 

John relayed this to Sherlock, who had been cycling back and forth between case related research and... decidedly less so topics, namely blindness.

He didn't push the topic though, since he was going to be stuck with Sherlock for the foreseeable future. Research wasn't going to harm anyone. Sherlock in a mood could.

 


	6. Chapter 6

By Monday they'd worked through most of the jet lag and managed to make it to the office of Nelson and Murdock by 10am. Through email, John had learned they didn't have any appointments all morning, so they'd have a while to work through whatever Sherlock was wondering about.

 

He barely allowed John to exchange greetings before he corralled them in the conference room and started monologuing at them, pacing back and forth in the small space.

 

“There's something missing. More than one something, probably. In order for him to have been extradited, a judge would have had to issue a warrant. And considering many of the judges who were formerly on the payroll of New York's less savory types were taken down, it seems more likely that it was a valid warrant. Which means they have to have probable cause. And to go to the trouble of extraditing someone, even for a double homicide...” Sherlock trailed off.

“Do you have access to the warrant for arrest?” John asked.

 

“We should,” Murdock said, alarm flashing across his face before he smoothed it out into something resembling indifference. “Is it not in the file?”

Nelson rifled through again. “It's not here Matt. Are you sure we ever had it?”

“I don't know,” Murdock replied, sounding uncertain. “If we didn't, that's a Brady violation.”

 

Sherlock watched the exchange with interest.

 

Nelson got up and headed out to the secretary's desk. John could hear them talking, but couldn't make out any of the words, and saw her shake her head a few times. He turned his attention back to Murdock, who was shifting in his seat uncomfortably, a bruise along the edge of his hairline. When he switched to tapping his fingers on the table in front of him, John could spot bruises and abrasions on his knuckles. He'd bet that there were more bruises that he could see, hidden under sleeves and buttons. Had he been in an accident? A fight? Mugged?

 

He knew that Sherlock was wondering the same thing, but thankfully Nelson came back in the room before he could even open his mouth.

 

“Karen says we never had the warrant, which seems suspicious to me.”

Murdock nodded in agreement.

“I'll make a few calls, but with the way the DA's office jerks us around, we likely won't have anything to show for it until tomorrow at the least,” Nelson said, apologetic. “I know we keep telling you that we'll have the answers you're looking for the next day, but hopefully this is the truth.”

“Hey, we're in New York City. I'd be happy to take the afternoon and see some of the sights,” John reassured him before Sherlock could even say anything. “Do you have any recommendations for places we should go?”

“Well, there's always the Statue of Liberty, if you're into that sort of thing, but it's very focused for tourists,” Matt said. “Sports, I think. There are a couple of zoos, one in Central Park even, so you don't have to go far.”

“Superhero watching,” Nelson chimed in. “Around Avengers Tower mostly, but if you're lucky you can see them anywhere. There's some spider kid out in Queens.”

“Rest assured, John has already tried to find superheroes,” Sherlock sighed.

“Museums, the rich history, Coney Island, Broadway shows,” Murdock continued.

“Lots of things, is what you're saying,” John summarized.

Nelson grinned. “Yup. If anything, just walk in one direction for a while, then stop and see what you can find.”

“We'll be sure to enjoy ourselves,” John assured him, pulling Sherlock by the arm out of the office before he could protest.

 

“We're not going sight seeing,” Sherlock declared.

“Why not?”

“I have far more important things to do than see the sights,” Sherlock huffed indignantly.

“Like?”

“Research. It would be easier if we were in London, but I think I can contact some of my homeless network, see what they can dig up.”

“For the case, right?”

“Of course for the case,” Sherlock retorted, hailing a cab. “What else would it be for?”

Sherlock gave the driver the address of the hotel before John replied.

“Digging into the lives of the lawyers? You seem very focused on proving that Murdock is faking his blindness, despite the evidence he's not.”

“The evidence?” Sherlock repeated. “I'll give you evidence. The number of microexpressions he cycles through in a day is fascinating. Granted, they're mostly variations on anger, fondness, sadness, and frustration, with the occasional hint of disgust largely directed at noxious sensory input, but still. He can always tell where his law partner is in the room, no matter how many people may be in that room. His body language gives away more than he's aware of, and is frankly quite blatantly obvious for anyone who's bothering to look. All of his gestures and mannerisms scream that he is almost constantly lying, and not even doing it well. For a lawyer, he's awful at it.”

John didn't even get his mouth open to protest before Sherlock barreled on.

“Then there's his colleagues, both of whom seem to have crushes on him. I'm not sure he's even aware, or if he reciprocates. Emotions, far too fleeting and uninteresting.” Sherlock waved a hand.

John rolled his eyes. “To you maybe.”

“And,” Sherlock continued, making no sign of having heard John at all. “It's curious that Murdock always seems to be injured. Even if he is blind, he'd have to be remarkably uncoordinated to sustain all those injuries.”

John ignored the stab about his supposed faking of the blindness. “The number of cuts and bruises he has is concerning,” he agreed. “I wonder if he's in an abusive relationship of some sorts. That could explain some of the fidgeting, the lying, the nervous tics. If he's being abused-”

“Unlikely,” Sherlock dismissed.

“Sherlock,” John chastised. “You can't know that. Besides, the statistics regarding abusive relationships, especially among adults with disabilities, not to mention if it's a same sex relationship- which we don't know-” he added, before Sherlock could even speak. “- would indicate that it's more likely in his case. So it's something we need to keep in mind. Maybe he can't find a way out of it on his own.”

“Different stages of healing points towards non-accidental injuries, but the placement, hand and knuckle wounds, jaw bruises, injured ribs, point towards fighting.”

John didn't question him on the injured ribs, even though he hadn't seen them himself. “He could be fighting back,” he suggested.

“Have you ever seen a case of that?”

“Well, no, but every case is different.”

“They why don't we see any injuries on his partner?”

“We don't know that the partner is _the_ _partner_.”

Sherlock hummed. “The relationship between them is certainly strained. Recently so.”

“Could be anything. Maybe it's about the law firm. Business doesn't seem to be that great, could be money problems.”

Sherlock hummed, but didn't reply.

“Do not push him about this. You of all people will not solve this problem. Are you listening to me Sherlock? Do not ask him. If you want to solve this case you've got to stick to asking questions about the client, not the lawyer.”

Sherlock pressed his fingers together beneath his chin.

“Oh god,” John rolled his eyes. “Fine, don't listen. But if we end up going home without a solved case, you only have yourself to blame.”

Sherlock didn't reply, and the rest of the cab ride was quiet.

 

John didn't fight him about sight seeing. He figured he'd go to the cafe for dinner and hope to see some superheroes then instead. Sherlock could stay at the hotel and sulk if he wanted to. John wasn't going to miss out on one of the most exciting cities in the world just because his travel partner was a stick in the mud.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock did accompany him to the cafe, only after John promised him it had wifi and that he could continue his research there.

 

John still didn't see any superheroes, but dinner was nice, and just being able to sit quietly without Sherlock going on about something was a welcome break.

 

Sherlock was awfully quiet the rest of the night and on the cab ride to the office of Nelson and Murdock the next morning, which could only mean he was planning something, but John was honestly beyond the point of caring. Until he had real evidence that Sherlock was being a dick, he couldn't do anything about it, so he wasn't going to worry.

 

Karen offered them coffee when they arrived. Sherlock declined, waving a cup that he'd been carrying since they left the hotel, and John thanked her, grateful for any caffeine.

 

Nelson handed John the folder containing the files. “Warrant is in there,” he said, in a tone of voice that said he wasn't happy about. Reading it, John realized why. Even after struggling through the legal tone, which John assumed the lawyers had less trouble with, it basically boiled down to trace evidence that wasn't specified or referred to anywhere else in the files. Someone was still giving them the runaround, even after they were confronted about it. Whatever the thing was that they had been annoyed about the DA violating earlier was certainly still being violated now. They just had to figure out how to work around it. Surely if it was the defendant's right, if it was being violated he couldn't be tried? John wasn't entirely sure on the specifics of American criminal law.

 

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” Sherlock blurted out. He was using his charming voice, the one he used when he was playing at being a normal human to get something he wanted.

John looked up from the file to find Murdock's shirt soaked with coffee. Sherlock had his charming face on, and Matt had an expression like he knew Sherlock was lying, but couldn't quite prove it.

“It's alright,” Murdock said, in a tone of voice that definitely said it wasn't alright.

“Are you okay?” John asked, setting down the paper he was reading. “You're not burnt are you?”

“No, the coffee was cool,” Matt said.

John glared at Sherlock, who looked entirely too innocent.

“I think I have a spare shirt in my office,” Matt muttered. “I'll try and see if I can find it.”

He held out one hand in front of him to feel for obstacles as the other began undoing buttons on his shirt. As soon as his office door closed behind him, John yanked Sherlock into the conference room.

“You did that on purpose!” he hissed.

Sherlock looked at him like he was an idiot. “Well yeah. I don't make a habit of carrying around cups of cool coffee. I mean coffee, honestly. Just because we're in America-”

John cut him off. “Why, Sherlock. Why. Are you still on about him not being blind? Because I've seen him without his glasses on. His pupils don't react to light. He is blind.”

“That can be faked,” Sherlock said, less than sure about it.

“You are not a doctor, nor will you gain anything from tormenting this man. I suggest you focus on the real case here, not harassing this poor lawyer who is clearly having enough difficulty in his personal life and keeping this firm afloat. Besides, if your theory was correct and he wasn't blind, you really think he'd let you spill coffee on him? He'd have thought it was hot.” He cut Sherlock off before he could even open his mouth. “I am going to finish reading the documents Nelson gave me, and you are going to sit quietly in the corner and not touch anything or speak to anyone. Don't make me drag you out of here because I will do it,” he hissed.

Sherlock looked appalled, but planted his butt on a chair and pulled out his phone and began typing. He spared half a glance for Murdock when he came out of his office, finishing up the top button on a new shirt.

Murdock tilted his head in Sherlock's direction before heading back to his partner's office and closing the door behind him.

 

“You're damn lucky he hasn't kicked us out of his office, out of the whole case even,” John muttered.

Sherlock didn't respond, which was probably smart of him.

John shoved the file at him. “See if you can find anything we missed. I'm going to go apologize for you. Again.”

 

John knocked, and Nelson nodded at him to come in. Murdock tilted his head like he was listening to something no one else could hear.

John closed the door behind him. “I just wanted to apologize again. Sherlock is a complete asshole, which I'm sure you know, but he is good at what he does. The crime solving part, not the annoying people part, although he's good at that as well.”

Nelson snorted, and even Murdock managed a small smile.

“I was wondering if there was anything we could do to help you out. Sherlock is apparently working on contacting some of his... friend, I guess they'd be friends, about hacking something?”

“We can't use that, if it's obtained illegally it's inadmissible,” Nelson butted in.

“Tried telling him that, he wouldn't listen,” John replied. “Were there any other suspects before Oliver was arrested?”

“We don't know. Probably not though. We tend to hear about these things,” Nelson said vaguely.

“And that violation you talked about yesterday, what was that?”

“A Brady violation. Basically, the defense has the right to discovery, so things that are relevant to the case, especially things that contradict our client's guilt, needs to be disclosed to us. We've submitted requests for discovery of this evidence, and failure to disclose is against the law, even if it's unintentional, which I don't think it is here.”

“It's definitely not,” Murdock muttered. “I'm going to call the DA's office. It's my turn anyway, since you did it yesterday.”

He made his way back to his office and picked up the phone.

 

 

 

Murdock spent the next hour on the phone in his office. John watched Sherlock watch him, Nelson worked in his office, and Karen Page glared at them the whole time, in between stamping forms and fighting with a printer.

 

He finally emerged, victorious.

 

“Apparently,” he drawled, sounding as though he didn't believe it for a second. “The evidence had been misplaced and was not included in that batch of files. They're sending it over. I didn't get a time when it would arrive, although I assume they're going to drag it out as long as possible.”

 

John checked his watch. It was nearly noon. “How about a lunch break?” he suggested.

 

Karen held up a patterned lunch bag. “I'm set.”

Murdock shook his head. “No thanks. I'm good.”

John looked to Nelson, who shrugged. “I usually take half of Karen's lunch.”

“Which is why I pack twice as much,” she retorted.

John laughed. “Okay well I guess we'll see you in a bit then.”

He dragged Sherlock out by his coat sleeve, since it looked like he was going to protest.

 


	8. Chapter 8

“You know, I don't think he thinks I'm blind,” Matt said, shortly after John and Sherlock left. “I think he spilled coffee on me on purpose.”

“Want me to beat him up?” Karen asked.

Matt shook his head. “Not yet at least. I suppose it could have been an accident, but he was carrying around a full cup of cold coffee.”

“You know, for someone who's supposed to be the world's most observant man, you'd think he could figure out that you're blind. I mean, why would you fake that?”

Matt shrugged.

“Maybe he thinks you have some vision?” Foggy suggested.

“Why would that matter?” Karen asked.

“Dunno,” Foggy replied, grabbing for Karen's lunch.

She passed him the container with his name on it and continued. “Maybe he thinks you're faking blindness, because he doesn't know that most legally blind people have some vision, and he's trying to catch you out. Although I still don't know what the point would be, or what he's trying to prove.”

“No idea,” Matt sighed, retreating to his own lunch in his office, which contained substantially less garlic. The afternoon was going to be interesting.

 

Foggy and Karen continued discussing it for a few more minutes, and then switched to the topic of John Watson's blog and how he documented Sherlock's life and cases.

“You think they're dating?” Karen asked.

“Dunno,” Foggy said through a mouth of noodles.

“They live together, which has to be worth something.”

“As roommates though. And he's sure to mention the dates he goes on with women.”

“There was a discussion on one of his first posts, where he said that he wasn't gay, but Sherlock might be,” Karen said thoughtfully.

“So he says he's not gay. He could be bisexual I guess, which... this is not the conversation I wanted to have over lunch,” Foggy realized.

Matt snickered.

 

 

 

 

Between bites of his pasta, John asked Sherlock a question. “You think they're dating?”

“Who?” Sherlock asked, picking through his own meal.

“Murdock and Nelson. They seem close enough.”

Sherlock scoffed.

“It's a valid question,” John defended.

Sherlock shook his head. “They're not dating.”

“Oh. What about Murdock and Karen? Nelson and Karen?”

Sherlock continued to shake his head. “None of them are dating any of the others. It's practically a love triangle though,” he added.

John hummed. “Just friends then?”

“Just friends,” Sherlock confirmed. “However, the relationship between Nelson and Murdock is fascinating. There's clearly something they're keeping from Karen, multiple things in fact, but they're both terrible liars. It's a miracle she hasn't figured it out yet.”

“Maybe she thinks they're hiding a relationship?”

Sherlock considered it, twirling his fork in the air. “That would be a good cover,” he agreed.

“Are you going to eat any of that?” John asked.

Sherlock glanced down at his plate, which he'd eaten maybe three bites of.

“You know I don't eat during cases.”

“Yeah, except we've been on this case for about a week now, and if you don't eat you'll die, and I'd really rather that didn't happen in America, because it would cost me a fortune in healthcare bills, and I'd probably get sued too.”

Sherlock smirked. “Well, we know some defense attorneys.”

John glared at him. “We're taking it to go for dinner then.”

Sherlock hummed, indifferent.

 

 

 

When they returned after lunch, Sherlock's leftovers in hand, the tone of the office seemed to have cheered up slightly.

“Made some progress,” Nelson announced, sounding pleased. “This file was brought over by messenger. Apparently it contains the evidence that the warrant was based on. I haven't even read it yet, since it showed up just before you.”

Sherlock grabbed the offered file out of his hand, which likely wasn't what Nelson had in mind, but he let it happen. Sherlock skimmed through the papers with skepticism, tossing them aside as quickly as he grabbed them.

John looked a bit more closely, and found what it was that had Sherlock so unimpressed.

“DNA results aren't conclusive yet, or just haven't been shared with us. Blood type is O positive, which is a fat lot of good, since it's the most common. This isn't enough to charge him with the murders. How did they manage to get him extradited?” Sherlock asked. “There's something they're not telling us, some evidence they're not sharing. Still. I honestly don't know how you can put up with this. Are all cases like this?”

“Usually they're a bit easier,” Nelson admitted.

“What's missing?” John muttered, reviewing the evidence.

Murdock's face set. “We can't possibly go to trial without the information. We need to get it.”

The way he said it, John was certain he had something in mind.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Karen left at the same time as John and Sherlock, and Foggy waited until Matt told him they had gotten in a cab.

 

“What do you mean by that Matt? Are you going to go and beat the information out of some poor desk sergeant? An assistant DA?”

“They're withholding evidence Foggy,” Matt insisted.

“I have no doubt of that, absolutely none, but don't you think this is a bit of an overreaction?”

Matt shook his head. “I made the wrong choice,” he said softly, almost hoping that Foggy wouldn't hear him.

Foggy paused. “What do you mean Matt?”

“It's not easy, you know. I stand on top of buildings and I listen. Sometimes it feels like the entire city is crying and screaming and pleading for help. How am I supposed to choose? I have to decide which ones are most likely to result in harm, which ones I can get to in time, which ones I can actually help. You have no idea how much our city is suffering Foggy. You know I've had to choose before, between saving the life of a young man being beaten to death and stopping the rape of a young girl. I've had to choose between pulling a baby from a fire and catching someone who shot a police officer. I stand on top of buildings and I listen to the city I love cry out in pain and I have to choose who to save. I have to make impossible choices, every single day, because if I don't they all die. No one gets saved if I don't do it. And it kills me Foggy, okay. It kills me because times like this, I know I made the wrong decision, and that knowledge will weigh on me forever. I chose to stop him because I thought he was going to hurt the store owner. But he never intended to. The gun had no bullets in it. And because I chose to stop him, two people died that night. As far as I'm concerned, their deaths are my fault.”

“Matt,” Foggy said, low and threatening and somehow reassuring at the same time. “This is not your fault. You will drown in your guilt if you keep thinking this way, okay. You make impossible choices, yes, but you said it yourself- if you don't make those choices then those people will have no one. So it doesn't matter who you didn't help. Forget that, or at least try to. Focus on who you did help. Remember the good you did. Because if you, hell, if any of us, focus on what we can't do, we might never be able to get out of bed again with the weight of it. Alright?”

 

Matt didn't turn his head up, but nodded.

 

“Great. Now go beat the crap out of whoever you need to so we can get our files.”

 

 

 

When John awoke the next morning, there were reports of Daredevil being out the night before. There was also a message on Sherlock's phone from Nelson stating that the police had... uncovered some evidence not previously shared with them. The entire DNA report being one of those things.

John didn't believe it either.

 

Nelson and Murdock had gone to the prison to discuss the new information with Ian Oliver. It was too late for John and Sherlock to join the meeting, but surely they could wait outside and meet them to commute to the office.

John threw things at Sherlock until he woke up, and they headed out shortly after.

 

Waiting outside the prison seemed suspicious to John, but Sherlock seemed indifferent.

Still, John decided that literally anywhere else would be better, so he found a little shop down the street that sold bubble tea and pushed Sherlock in. Sherlock barely seemed to notice, since he was doing something on his phone, which seemed to be glued to his hands since he'd gotten up.

John sent Nelson a text to let them know where they were, since he wasn't sure if Murdock's phone would announce it out loud, distracting from the meeting.

 

Nelson and Murdock arrived around the time that Sherlock seemed to realize where they were, namely not anywhere relevant to the case.

Nelson seemed disgustingly cheery for such an early hour, but Murdock seemed exhausted. John would bet there were dark circles underneath those glasses. He also seemed to have acquired a bruise to the left cheek, one that look suspiciously like he'd been punched.

John silently willed Sherlock not to bring it up, at least until later.

 

“So what did he have to say?”

“We told him about the DNA evidence linking him to the scene, which was the evidence that was finally shared with us. He claimed he didn't know how it got there, but did inform us that he'd been to the building before.”

“How did they match it to him?” Sherlock asked. “Since that was how they got the extradition order.”

“His DNA was in the system from a B&E a couple years back. He served time for it.”

“Yet he proclaims his innocence now,” Sherlock muttered.

“Well, not exactly. He did claim to be committing a completely different crime at the time. Not quite an innocent man, just guilty of a different crime.”

“Poor judgment?” Sherlock asked.

They all ignored him.

“You have the report that says the DNA matched?” John asked.

Murdock nodded. “Back at the office.”

“Yes, anything else relevant happen at the meeting?” Sherlock asked.

“We've got a timeline for when he was in the building. According to him, it had been months since he'd been there.”

John hummed. He knew it was very possible for the DNA to have survived for months at a scene, especially if the site wasn't cleaned frequently. Even then, he wasn't sure how he felt about the developments.

 

Sherlock got them a cab, but only a few blocks from the office, he made the driver stop and pushed John out.

 

“You go on ahead,” he told Nelson and Murdock. “We've got a few things to discuss. We'll meet you back at the office in a few. With coffee. Tell Karen we'll bring coffee.”

Sherlock gave them a wave as he pushed John around a sudden corner.

“This isn't the way back to the office, what are you doing?”

“Murdock is hiding something still. Related to the case,” he clarified, because John knew he was still on about the blindness thing.

John rolled his eyes. “And how do you know that?”

“I overheard him-”

“Eavesdropped,” John corrected.

“-say that he knew it couldn't be our client. You heard the DNA evidence. It's pretty damning. How could he know that? Was Murdock there?”

“At the crime scene?”

“Either of them.”

John realized what he was saying. Murdock could have either been at the scene of the murder, and known that it wasn't his client who committed the crime, or he could have been at the scene of the robbery that was foiled by Daredevil, and known he was there instead.

“Okay...” he said slowly. “If it was something innocent, he would have told him, and then testified as a witness rather than taking the case on. You're thinking he feels guilty about something, and this is how he's rectifying it?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I just know there's a lot he's not telling us.”

John couldn't argue with that.

 


	10. Chapter 10

The newly discovered report was waiting at the office of Nelson and Murdock when Sherlock and John returned, coffees in hand.

John barely had a chance to skim through it before Sherlock snatched it out of his hands. John gave up and doled out the coffees.

 

Sherlock scoffed at the report. “The sample could only isolate nine STR sequences. All nine of them match him, but considering the standard is usually 13, it's not damning evidence. But it got a hit on the database, and with his criminal history, they're going to try him for the murders. They might actually get a conviction.” He tented his fingers under his chin. “The mathematics of DNA is fascinating, isn't it?”

Nelson blinked at them. “...sure.”

“Assuming 10 different alleles, a 13 locus system, which is the standard currently in America, allows for 10^21 profiles, a number which far exceeds the number of people in the world. Even using 9 loci, it's still something along the lines of 10^14, again exceeding the number of people in the world. More than enough for a conviction.”

“What about a twin?” John suggested.

“There's never a twin.”

“No, you said there's never a _secret_ twin. What about one he just didn't tell us about?”

Sherlock scowled at John.

 

Nelson clapped his hands together. “Maybe we should visit him again? This time armed with the information,” he suggested brightly. “Clear up a few things.”

“Even a brother...” John mused.

“That sounds great,” Murdock replied, ignoring both John and Sherlock.

Nelson sagged. “Really? I was hoping you'd disagree with me. I mean, I don't want to go to the prison more than once in a day. People are going to start thinking we're there for other reasons.”

“Like what Foggy?”

“I dunno. Things,” he said vaguely, gesturing with his arms to the entire expanse of their office while Murdock unfolded his cane.

“Right.”

 

 

 

John didn't think that they meant to invite them, but Sherlock followed them out of the office and into the cab, John somehow ending up in the middle of the backseat with Sherlock in the front.

 

The ride was far too long, despite Nelson's attempts to make it slightly less uncomfortable.

“He's being held in the Metropolitan Correctional Center, which is only marginally better than Riker's, and at least a bit closer.”

Sherlock hummed, but didn't respond.

John desperately wished he was sitting next to the window so he could stare out it and pretend he was anywhere else.

 

“You know you won't be allowed to speak with him. There's a whole process and a form to fill out-”

Sherlock cut off Murdock before he could even finish his sentence. “Won't be a problem. I filled out the forms before we even left London.”

John eyed him suspiciously. It was unlike Sherlock to think so far ahead. He tended towards more spur of the moment plans where he relied on his wit and influence to get him into places. John supposed it would work less well in America, and was thankful he wasn't going to end up getting shot because of something Sherlock thought was a good idea.

“Oh,” Nelson said, when it seemed like no one else was going to say something. “Okay then.”

 

John was surprised at how patient Sherlock was with the whole process of getting in to see Ian Oliver. There were countless voyages through metal detectors, instructions about what couldn't be taken in, said, or done while in the company of the prisoner, and a review of the file that Nelson and Murdock brought to ensure it was in fact legal material.

Finally they were in the same room as the man, him cuffed and shackled to the table.

 

“Mr Oliver,” Murdock greeted. “This is Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, who you asked to consult on your case.”

Oliver nodded. “I didn't think you guys would come to New York,” he said, awestruck.

Sherlock dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “Yes, you can thank us later. What we need to talk about now is the evidence they have against you. DNA that partially matched yours was found at the crime scene. There is a high statistical likelihood that you were the source of that DNA. The odds of it coming from someone unrelated to you are astronomical, to the point where I'm not even going to give you numbers because it will be impossible for you to understand them.”

Something shifted in Ian Oliver at that statement, some combination of realization and defeat. He sagged in his chair, the cuffs weighing on him more heavily than they had been a moment ago.

He sighed and shook his head. “No. I'm not going to fight it anymore. I'll plead guilty.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Sherlock didn't wait for him to answer before pressing on. “Not because you committed the crime, we've already established you didn't. Which means you just found out something that we don't know, something that makes you willing to go to jail for a crime you didn't commit. And as I've said before, love is a much more vicious motivator. It was when I said unrelated, wasn't it? You realized the blood didn't come from someone unrelated.”

John realized where Sherlock was going with this.

“Your son. It's likely he has the same blood type. He'd also have at least half of the same markers we test for. Since the sample was degraded, it's not out of the realm of possibility that you'd both be matches. Of course, his DNA is not on file, but yours was.”

There was a sharp intake of breath as Nelson caught on. Murdock just stood there, stony and silent.

“You cannot go to jail for the rest of your life just because you're protecting your son. If he doesn't learn this is wrong, he will continue committing crimes. That's what you don't want. He won't be tried as an adult. He can still have a life after this. He can be rehabilitated. You will go to jail for what will likely be the rest of your life.” Sherlock stared at him. “You will die there.”

Oliver shook his head. “Maybe this is what I can do for him. The best thing I can give him.”

“I won't let you do this,” Matt said quietly.

“You don't have children, do you?”

Matt's silence was answer enough.

The expression on Oliver's face was heartbreaking. “You can't stop me.”

“Maybe he can't. But I can,” Sherlock said. “I took no oath, there is no attorney client privilege with me. You asked me to solve this case, and that's what I came here to do.”

“Don't. Please,” he pleaded.

Sherlock was quiet but his face was set. His mind was made up.

He spun out of the room.

John quickly followed behind, Nelson and Murdock packing up their things.

“What do you intend to do?” John asked. “Make him confess?”

“No, I'm going to deliver the son to the police. Perhaps get his DNA in the system. Even if it doesn't lead to a conviction for him, at least it would get Ian Oliver off. That's what he wanted us for, and it's what I intend to do.”

“Oh god,” John muttered.

Nelson and Murdock came up behind them.

 

“Well, we can't prove he's innocent,” Nelson said, Murdock holding his elbow. “All we can do is provide reasonable doubt.”

“Oh, I think we can do better than that,” Sherlock announced, spinning on the spot so his coat twirled around him and heading off down the street.

“I should probably follow him,” John said, apologetic. “He's probably going to do something stupid, and I should be there when he does.”

“What an admirable friendship,” Matt said as John left, only a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Don't start with me Murdock.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *squints at science and shrugs*


	11. Chapter 11

Thankfully for John, Sherlock just went back to the hotel to research the son, who he'd apparently looked up during his initial investigation of Oliver, but now was digging much deeper, including hacking into his social media.

The son's name was Alfred, or as his friends called him, Alfie. Alfie seemed to have strong opinions about everything, according to his social media, a fact which Sherlock found infuriating.

“He's posted about how GMOs are causing autism. Does he actually believe that shit?”

John sighed. “You know this is why you don't look at social media. People are idiots, as you so often point out. Plus, he's still a kid.”

Sherlock's phone vibrated, and he grabbed it, his face lighting up. “Flick managed to download his text history. He's sending it to me through email.”

“Flick?” John asked. “Is that one of your homeless network?”

“Formerly. He's still a part of my network, no longer homeless. Brilliant kid.”

John had so many more questions, but figured they weren't important at the moment, and crowded in next to Sherlock to read the files.

Of course, Sherlock speed read through them, and John could barely keep up.

 

“There,” Sherlock said after a moment of scrolling and furious text reading. “He's staying with a friend.”

“That's what you were looking for?”

“Well yeah. I already knew he wasn't staying with his mother. He told her that he moved in with his father around the time the crime was committed, and told her he's still been living there despite him being in prison.”

“You called his mother?”

Sherlock looked almost disappointed with him. “Of course I did John. Try to keep up.”

John shook his head. “Of course,” he muttered. “You know, our phone bill this month is going to be massive.”

“Thankfully, I managed to get my plan covered under Mycroft's. By the time he figures it out, it's going to be too late to do anything about it.” Sherlock smirked.

“I look forward to that discussion.”

“Get your coat,” Sherlock ordered, pulling up the location of the friend's apartment on a map. It was in Hell's Kitchen, not far from the office of Nelson and Murdock.

“Should I call them?” John asked, shrugging his jacket on.

“The lawyers? No. They'd just get up in arms about illegally obtaining evidence. Plus neither of them are likely to be much help, even if Murdock isn't blind.”

“Jesus Sherlock,” John huffed.

 

It was almost dark out by the time they left, and Sherlock decided they should walk instead of taking a cab.

John was a little skeptical about whatever plan he'd concocted, hell, who knew if Sherlock even had one. John had nearly died multiple times because of Sherlock's lack of an ability to plan anything, or share those plans on the rare occasion he did have one.

 

It wasn't a very long walk, and so John didn't have an opportunity to work it out of Sherlock what the general idea was, so he really was going into the situation blind when Sherlock stopped at a building and let himself in.

“What's the plan?” John asked in the elevator.

Sherlock hummed. “Oh, I don't know. It depends what works.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” John asked, but the elevator stopped and Sherlock got out before answering.

 

Sherlock knocked firmly on the door to the apartment.

“Yeah?” a voice called.

“Is Alfred there?”

“Who wants to know?”

Sherlock nodded at John. That was him.

“Alfred Oliver,” Sherlock called. “Can I call you Alfie?”

“Like hell you can.”

“Right. We're here about your father. Surely you've heard he's been arrested for a double homicide.”

“Yeah, so?”

John tried a softer approach. “Your mother is worried about you Alfie. You should go home. She wants to know you're safe.”

“I told her I was living with dad, which was her first mistake, to believe that I ever wanted to live with that asshole.”

“Your father is doing his best Alfie,” John added, not entirely certain if it was true or not.

Alfie snorted. “Whatever man. Piss off and leave me alone. Let dad stay in prison. It's not like he's innocent.”

“Of this crime he is,” Sherlock retorted.

“Leave me alone,” Alfie screamed. “I've got a gun. I'll shoot you if you don't go away.”

John tugged Sherlock away from the door and around a nearby corner. This wasn't time for risk taking.

“We know you killed them,” Sherlock called around the corner. “Your father didn't, but the police are certain it was him. He'll go to prison, likely for the rest of his life.”

“So what? He was never there for me. All mom talks about is how he can't even provide for us.”

“Your father tries damn hard. We know he didn't kill those people because he was robbing a store at that time instead. He wants a future for you, so much that he's willing to sacrifice the rest of his life so you get it.”

“I'll let him,” Alfie yelled back. “Why shouldn't I?”

“Because you're still a child. You'll be tried as a child. The justice system will be much kinder to you, especially if you spin them a tale of self defense.”

“You think you know what happened?”

“Sherlock,” John hissed. “What are you doing?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Poking the bear.”

John wanted to slap him.

“You weren't there!” Alfie screamed. “You have no idea what happened.”

“I know that DNA very similar to your father's was found at the crime scene, DNA that would also be similar to yours. I know that you used to be friends with the female victim on facebook until a month before her death, which is around the same time you were hospitalized with broken ribs and a concussion. I also know that her boyfriend, the male victim, was a drug dealer, which isn't even known to the police, because they were too focused on blaming your father rather than digging into the reason a struggling writer who works as a bike messenger was able to afford a sizeable apartment in the middle of Manhattan. What I don't know is the exact events that led to you shooting both of them. I'm sure that he was the one who put you in the hospital a month before his own death, and I can only assume that you went there to talk to her, with the gun as defense, and things got heated. You were scared, you defended yourself, and they ended up dead. Feel free to correct me if I'm getting anything wrong here.”

There was only silence from the other side of the door.

“Alfie?” John called. “Are you alright?”

 

It was then that the lights in the building went out. John reached for the wall he knew was there to steady himself.

“Did you do this?” he hissed at Sherlock.

“Despite what you may think I'm not _god,_ ” Sherlock hissed right back. “This wasn't me. However, I'm sure it's a great distraction. He's disoriented in the dark-”

“So are we,” John interjected.

“- and this is our chance. You have a phone, use it,” Sherlock ordered.

“And call who?”

“Call? No one. Use the light, break down the door, perform a citizen's arrest. I'll cover the exit.”

 

A noise behind them made Sherlock spin and John reached for a gun that wasn't there.

The lights came back on, just in time to stop Sherlock from hitting Matt Murdock.

John blinked as his eyes readjusted to the light. “How are you here?” he asked.

Murdock shrugged. “Foggy should be up in a minute. The dark bothers him a bit more than me,” he smirked.

Indeed, not thirty seconds after that, Foggy Nelson appeared at the top of the stairs, huffing and puffing with exertion.

“You could have waited for me,” he accused Matt.

Murdock shrugged. “Why should I be stopped by things as trivial as darkness?”

“You're _blind_!” Sherlock blurted out, as though it was suddenly occurring to him that it was true.

John glared at him. “Timing.”

“And that is what we're been trying to tell you for like, a week,” Foggy added.

Matt only sighed. “And he didn't believe it until now. For all his _deductions_ ,” Matt said the word with disdain, “it took him this long to figure out I am actually blind. Like we told him.”

“I really don't want to ruin this moment, but I feel like I should remind you of the imminent danger we're facing. Alfred Oliver is in there with a gun, angry from Sherlock provoking him, and possibly a threat to himself.”

Nelson waved a hand. “Ah, we'll be fine.”

John stared at him. “How?” he demanded.

“Matt will take care of it.”

Sherlock and John both turned to stare at Murdock, who was standing there looking positively innocent.

He sighed. “Foggy.”

“They were going to find out. He's apparently the world's best detective.”

Matt sighed again. “I guess.”

“Find out what?” Sherlock asked.

“I'm Daredevil.”

 

John practically watched the denial form on Sherlock's lips before the deductions kicked in. They flashed across his face and left him speechless.

“You're blind,” Sherlock said, a repeat of what he'd blurted out only a moment ago. “And you're Daredevil.”

Matt nodded.

“Amazing,” Sherlock breathed.

“Timing still,” John reminded him.

Sherlock shrugged.

 

Matt shrugged right back. He tilted his head. “He's headed down the fire escape.”

Foggy groaned. “Back down the stairs I guess,” he sighed.

“You guys take the stairs, I'll follow him down the fire escape,” Matt ordered.

John didn't have to be told twice. Sherlock took the stairs two or more at a time, a practice which made John's stomach clench with thoughts of broken ankles and head injuries, but it really wasn't the time.

 

By the time they got to the bottom of the stairs and outside to where the fire escape ended, Matt already had Alfie disarmed and on the group, a knee in his back. He was also reassuring him that he'd take care of things; what he meant by that, John had no idea. He hoped it meant being the kid's lawyer and not something less... legal.

 


	12. Chapter 12

After Alfie had been delivered to the police station, with a tale woven about research into their client, the discovery of Alfie with a gun, and him being a danger to himself, he was taken into custody.

Sherlock suggested a DNA sample might be helpful. Except his suggestion wasn't really that, and was more of an order, which Brett didn't take kindly to.

 

By the time that was over, it was nearly midnight and Matt was exhausted.

“I need a drink,” Foggy announced.

“I could get behind that,” John agreed.

Sherlock shrugged.

“We'll take you to Josie's. It's a real treasure.”

Foggy snorted.

 

The bar was relatively quiet, and they all got drinks and piled in a booth near the back, with no one within earshot.

“So,” Sherlock said. “You're blind. And you're Daredevil. I'm trying to reconcile the existence of both those things, but I'm having a hard time with it. Explain.”

Matt sighed and took a large drink. “I am blind. No light perception, so completely blind. But when it happened, my senses were amplified, far beyond what might be expected. It was almost instantaneous. I could hear everything around me for blocks, which in New York City is a hell of a lot. It was overwhelming, to say the least. Combine that with the trauma of losing my sight, and I was a mess for a while. Eventually I learned to use it, to control it and manage the input I got. There is so much information that my brain is processing every second I'm awake, just to make sense of my environment. It all forms an impression of my surroundings- not quite vision, and better in some ways, but lacking in others.”

He paused to take another drink, and Sherlock chimed in instead.

“Better how?”

“Well, it's 360 degrees. I don't need to turn my head towards something to know where it is. I can hear through walls, which essentially allows me to 'see' through them. I can identify someone from a distance if I know them well or if I'm looking for them.”

“But it obviously doesn't compensate for everything,” John added.

Matt shook his head. “I'm still blind. Anything that's two dimensional- so writing, signs, billboards, computer screens- is completely inaccessible to me. Plus it's exhausting. I can navigate without the cane, but it requires my full attention. I'm not conventionally blind, but I'm also not sighted, and pretending I am would be a mistake.”

John nudged Sherlock. “I think you owe him an apology.”

Sherlock sighed. “I apologize for believing you weren't blind. And spilling coffee on you on purpose.”

“I could have stopped you if I was on my game,” Matt admitted. “I just wasn't. I was tired and hurt from the night before.”

“We did wonder if you were be abused,” John told him. “The injuries were suspicious, although not completely indicative of abuse. More like you were fighting. We thought you could be fighting back, but...” he trailed off.

“How could a blind person be fighting back?” Matt asked. “Yeah. It works well for my cover I suppose, but it's hard always coming up with excuses. People only believe 'I fell down the stairs' a few times before they start thinking you need a seeing eye dog.”

Foggy waved a hand. “Guilty. Of course that was before I knew.”

“Is this a recent development? You finding out?” Sherlock asked.

Matt nodded. “A few months ago. Just before the Fisk case.”

“I told you the relationship was strained,” Sherlock whispered to John.

“Yeah except you thought Foggy was abusing Matt,” John hissed back.

“Remember how good my hearing is?” Matt said wryly.

“Right.”

“They wondered if you were the one abusing me,” Matt told Foggy.

“Not the first time someone's wondered that,” Foggy noted, taking a drink.

“Karen worries a lot,” Matt admitted.

“She doesn't know?” John asked.

Matt shook his head. “And I'd appreciate if it stayed that way. I'm going to tell her, I just need to figure out how to say it. I don't want it to be as much of a mess as when Foggy found out.”

Sherlock hummed, doing something on his phone.

“Sherlock,” John muttered. “You're being rude.”

“I've got us a flight back in the morning.”

“A bit more warning this time, which I suppose is nice.”

“Leaving already?” Foggy asked.

John nodded. “We do have a life back in London, and while New York is nice, in a strange sort of way, we do have to be getting back.”

“Sorry you couldn't see any superheroes,” Matt said. “I know you tried Iron Man spotting a few times, but I guess he was taking a holiday as well.”

John shrugged. “Well, I did meet one superhero, up close and everything,” he said.

“He looks smug,” Foggy announced. “Like, super smug. With this annoying little smile.”

Matt shook his head. “Vigilante,” he muttered, but no one was listening.

 

 

 

They finished their drinks and headed out, John and Sherlock to their hotel to pack, Matt and Foggy meandered in the direction of Matt's apartment.

“Another case solved,” Foggy said happily.

“The outcome leaves something to be desired,” Matt admitted.

Foggy nudged him. “And how is your Catholic guilt doing?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh you know, that whole speech about how you are forced to make impossible choices because if you don't, no one else does.”

“It's true,” Matt said softly.

“I know. That's why I'm trying to joke about it instead of giving it the full seriousness something like that should require, because you provide enough of that for the both of us. You need to stop blaming yourself so much. Go see Father Latte.”

“Lantom.”

“That's what I said.” Foggy softened. “I'm serious though. You need to talk to someone about this, someone who knows more than me. He seems to be the guy to do it.”

Matt sighed and nodded. “I know.”

“This guilt is weighing you down buddy. Surely God, in his infinite wisdom, can see that you're really trying here, and will forgive you.”

_If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness._

 

“Want to come up for a drink?” Matt asked, shifting the subject.

“Well I didn't walk you home because I was concerned for your safety.”

“Don't think I didn't notice for the last block that you've been leaning on me more than you've been guiding me,” Matt retorted.

Foggy gently placed a finger on his lips and shushed him.

“Gross,” Matt muttered. “I know where that's been.”

“Beer?” Foggy asked.

“Beer.” Matt agreed.

He wouldn't go out that night, he decided. Tomorrow though, tomorrow there would be people who'd need him. He'd save as many as he could, and it would probably never be enough, but he was going to have to start making peace with that.

 

And on Sunday, church. Foggy was right; if he kept blaming himself for every person he couldn't save he was going to drown in the guilt. He planned to start swimming.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Blind Man's Bluff](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11745771) by [Shuufleur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shuufleur/pseuds/Shuufleur)




End file.
